The knight, the dragon and the necromancer. Daert dilogy-1

A quarter of an hour later, the battalions were in motion — the Guard formed an arc, the ends of which rested in the river. Behind the backs of infantrymen stood cuirassiers of Colonel de Beauliora and continued to cross the carriers. The pursuers did not wait too long.

The royal cavalry crested the distant hills, as if crowned with a silver border that glistened in the morning sun. Above the ranks of gendarmes fluttered the flags of the kingdom and the personal green banners of Auguste the First. For several minutes nothing happened. Probably the pursuers had hoped to catch a disorderly crowd of fleeing rebels at the fords, and the sight of the troops ready for battle confused them. Eventually, however, the echo of battle trumpets, the signal to attack, reached Rosa's ears. The cavalry came over the hills and swept forward, changing from trot to gallop. The girl thought she saw a horde of angry steel ants. Now the bugles sang by the river. Drums rattled. The young sorceress saw the first ranks of the pikemen kneel down, resting the blunt ends of their pikes on the ground.

— The king's commander is either a fool or too confident that our infantry is demoralised, — Jeanne said, stroking Dragon's mane. — This attack will only work if the pikemens start scattering before the gendarmes hit.

When the wave of cavalry had come within five hundred paces of the Black Guard, cannon struck from across the river — only a few barrels — but the cannonballs knocked out fountains of earth in the thick of the attackers, toppling a dozen horsemen. A hundred paces — white sultans of gunpowder smoke soared above the infantry, gendarmes rolled around, knocked down by the bullets of arquebuses. A moment more — and the cavalry, under the crackle of breaking lances, crashed into the line of defenders. The spectacle was grandiose — two thousand cavalrymen looked like an unstoppable force, sweeping away everything in its path. This illusion lasted for about ten or fifteen seconds. Until it became obvious that the infantry had held firm and the onslaught of the gendarmes was weakening, moment by moment. The first ranks of the horsemen stopped altogether, their horses galloping in front of the forest of spades, stumbling over the bodies of the dead and wounded. The rear ranks pressed on, causing confusion. With new trumpet blasts, the royal cavalry swept away from the crossing in disorder. Where the two lines had clashed, a veritable shaft of human and horse bodies piled up.

— Well, no, that's not all. — Marshal de Cotoci curled his lips. — Trumpet, command the cuirassiers.

At the sound of the bugles, the rebel infantry drew apart and cleared the way for de Beaulior's troop. The colonel's cuirassiers moved forward in a flawless wedge, galloped, and swiftly charged into the loose order of Auguste's troops. The heavier gendarmes could neither escape them nor organise a decent resistance. The infantry moved slowly forward, now and then wrapped in the white haze of gun volleys — now the remnants of the King's forces were being pressed unhurriedly and inevitably into the hills.

— Well, the enemy has more credit for this victory than we do, — said the marshal, lowering his telescope. — If we let too many get away, there is a risk....

A horn sounded the alarm very close to headquarters.

— Demons, what else... — De Cotoci stopped short. A troop of two or three hundred light riders in green uniforms were galloping along the bank from the north. — They had crossed downstream!

The light cavalry were obviously meant to cut off the fugitives at the fords or strike to the rear, but the battle had turned against Auguste's army too quickly. However, the horsemen didn't know this yet — and aimed where they saw the biggest flag. That is, the marshal's headquarters.

— Stop them! — De Cotoci shouted. One of the adjutants spurred his horse towards the nearby Black Shields. Another rushed to the nearest company of footman, waving his hat and shouting.

— Whatever happens, stay close to me, mistress. — Jeanne touched Rosa's shoulder. — As long as I'm with you, don't be afraid of anything.

The lancers with the black badges on their armour noticed the threat themselves. Without waiting for orders, they moved to intercept the enemy — but too slowly to block his path to the headquarters. The officers of the staff bared their swords, summoning the soldiers of the guard, and Donna Vittoria fiddled with the amulets in her belt pouches with contrived calm. Rosa pressed her lips tightly together, clenched the reins until her fingers ached. "I wish I had a crossbow," she thought. — "Why didn't I get a new one?" Out of the corner of her eye she saw a strange movement. The forty-barreled volley gun, designed to protect the headquarters from air attacks, was rolling its bulky weapon towards the enemy.

— Come on, you bastards! — yelled the chief gunner, slapping the servants.

The barrels of the volley gun lowered. The gunner blew on the burning fuse and poked it into the gun.

— Bang! Bang! Bang, bang, bang, bang!

A fan of lead mowed down a dozen riders in an instant. The rest fell back, slowing their pace, and the delay was enough. The Black Shields flanked Auguste's cavalrymen, crushing a good quarter of them at once. A chaotic scramble ensued. A couple of dozen enemy cavalry still managed to escape from the mess, but they were stopped by the guard of the headquarters. When a company of pikemen arrived, it was all over. Both here and on the other side of the river, the remnants of the gendarmes were withdrawing into the lowlands between the hills, leaving the wounded and stragglers behind. One of de Beaulior's cuirassiers was already galloping back with a trophy banner in his hands.

— Milord de Cotoci. — Donna Vittoria did not look the least bit worried, but Rosa knew her mentor well enough to appreciate her pallor. — I think the gun's crew deserves not only praise but also a monetary reward.

— And also bottles of good wine from my chest, — the marshal agreed, wiping the sweat from his forehead.

Jeanne simply put her sword back in its scabbard and gave Rosa another pat on the shoulder.

The next few days were unsettling. Auguste's cavalry, which had survived the battle, had reassembled and were now following the Black Guard at a respectful distance. They posed no threat, but the rearguard had to be reinforced by de Beaulior's regiment, and at the breaks, whole companies of pikemen with weapons at the ready kept guard. Toad and Don Marius were exhausted, checking the road ahead and then turning back to make sure that the enemy was not plotting some dastardly deed. The area beyond the tributary of the Shaanta was little affected by the war, and the army even passed through a few inhabited villages, whose inhabitants looked at the soldiers with apprehension, but did not hurry to flee into the forest. Donna Vittoria insisted that the marshal forbid foraging, and buy food from the peasants only with coins, with their firm consent. "Let the locals be better robbed and ruined by those who will pass through here after us — soldiers under the King's banners," the necromancer explained with a slight chuckle. And added: "If we take everything away now, what will they have to lose later? And don't worry about supplies, we'll have enough in the end of the way." She only announced the target when the snowy peaks of the western mountains rose above the horizon.

— The Three Horns Gorge, milords and mlady, — the red-haired donna said as the staff assembled in the marshal's tent. — There it is on the map. Less than a day's journey for us.

— It's a trap, — the marshal frowned. — The ravine is a dead end, and the entrance is wide, making it awkward to defend.

— Don't worry, my lord. — Vittoria gave the warlord one of her most harmless smiles. — I've had my eye on this place for a long time, since we first set foot on Shaanta. It's a dead end for a large army. The mountains are passable for small groups and loners who know the secret paths.

— But we do have a large army. — De Cotoci stared at the map as if he wanted to burn a hole where the black symbol marked the gorge. — And no connections with the locals. They might not give us guides.

— When the time comes, the army will leave the gorge the same way it came in. — The necromancer put her hands behind her back. — You are mistaken about the ties with the locals, milord. There is a village deep in the gorge, too large and prosperous to live from hunting and selling timber to the valley. A smugglers' trail passes through here. As a high-ranking court official, I have connections and cash reserves... the kind that King Auguste has trouble reaching. I've already put it all to use. I'm almost penniless now, but we have supplies and reliable men in the gorge through whom I can conveniently continue my game in the kingdom. If I haven't miscalculated something else, there are other pleasant things waiting for us there.....

What kind of things her mentor was talking about, Rosa learnt a little later. The army reached the neck of the gorge at sunset and began to pull inward along the rocky road. No sooner had the scouts gone ahead than one of them came galloping back and reported that music could be heard around the corner.

— Marvellous! — Donna Vittoria was pleased for some reason. She turned to Rosa and Jeanne. — Let's hurry up. I want to test my hunch.

The three of them overtook the vanguard, tramping through the dust under the unfurled black banner, and soon they heard music. The gentle, soft melody came from different directions, echoing off the walls of the gorge. The further the women travelled, the more distinct it became. Rose covered her eyes just in case, turning to magical vision, but she saw nothing. Not a trace of magic. The source of the music was just around the bend in the road. On a huge round boulder stood a slender, tall woman in a tight-fitting dark suit, playing the violin selflessly. Her long, pointed ears, peeking out from her lush blond hair, twitched slightly in time with the melody. The scouts who surrounded the stone stared at the violinist from bottom to top with suspicion, though none of them had bared their weapons. Seeing the sorceresses, the elven girl lowered her bow and deftly jumped down from the stone. She bowed low, taking her hand with the violin aside.

— I wasn't sure I would see you again, lady, — Donna Vittoria admitted, halting her horse. — Your appearance is a balm to the wounds of my heart. Especially when you're not here alone.

— Not alone. — Lady Captain Lytel, daughter of Eramont, envoy of the Principality of Liarat, straightened with a smile. — It's good to see you, friends. I apologise for the unusual welcome, but I wanted to set the mood for our meeting. Relax and take a breath. I have only good news for you today....

Chapter 17

From the path winding down the slope, the view of the gorge was marvellous. It was evening, and one could see the flames of fires flickering here and there. The rebel camps were snakes of fire stretching along the bottom, the guard posts glimmered like lonely fireflies on the high rocks, and beyond the neck of the Three Horns, on the distant plain, a whole scattering of scarlet dots shone like a reflection of the starry sky. It was where the royal army had caught up with the rebels. It had become a familiar sight in recent weeks, though, and something else made Rosa stop. A sound that reached her ears. Reaching the edge of the path, the girl looked down. There, in the village square, two groups of soldiers were training in the light of torches placed on poles. A company of pikemen and half a company of shooters were practising their co-operation — the arquebusiers were firing a volley, retreating behind the backs of their comrades-in-arms, then running forward again and forming a line. Spearmen stepped into the attack, retreated, turned on the spot, keeping the formation, set their pikes. A soldier's routine, at first glance. Except the arquebusiers wore civilian dress instead of uniforms. And there were half a dozen women among them. And instead of a drum, a violin set the rhythm. Rosa had no trouble finding the musician — Lytel was standing at the edge of the square, in a circle of light from the torch. The elfess occasionally paused to give a new command with a swing of her bow and a short cry, but even these pauses seemed part of the melody, so infectious that the young sorceress's heels itched. She wanted to march in place, or at least tap her heel to the beat.

— She's a little eccentric, but she's talented, — a man's voice said behind Rosa. — By her age, any elf has a few odd hobbies, but few are able to put them to good use.

The sorceress didn't flinch — though something in her chest tightened for a moment. With a furtive exhalation, she looked round with feigned calm. Captain Utlt stood at Rosa's right hand, looking down as well. The stocky Anelonian had appeared as if from the ground — the girl could have sworn that a few seconds ago there had been no one else on the path but her. If Jeanne had been here, she would have spotted the elf from afar, but Rosa had let her bodyguard go an hour ago. The gorge was quite safe, and the warrior needed rest and time to herself. And the necromancer's apprentice didn't need any help in her plan.

— I don't remember you complimenting Lady Lytel in her presence, Captain, — said the girl, smiling. The unexpected meeting rather pleased her. The sharp-eared sailor was a pleasant conversationalist, and Rosa would have liked a little distraction before another serious conversation.

— God forbid, I'm not getting married yet! — The black-bearded elf grinned. — In general, one should never praise people like Lytel. Only to tease — otherwise they will stop growing over themselves and become lazy. You people live too little, and you should be praised on any occasion.

— I'm still confused... by the discrepancy between appearance and content. — Rosa put her hands behind her back and stopped smiling. — The Lady Captain looks so cold and serious and haughty... while she's silent. And then she starts playing the violin under my window because she thought I was sad at dinner.

Utlt laughed softly. He ran his fingers along the hilt of the boarding sword on his belt:

— Elves are as different as people. There's the boring ones and the arrogant, sour faces. Especially old folk like me. But they stay in their principalities, proud of themselves and keep to themselves. Lythel and I came to you as volunteers, master. Doesn't that say something about us? We're adventurous and restless. Troublemakers.

— And you too, Captain? — The necromancer's apprentice glanced at her companion, smiling again.

— You bet. — The Anelonian shrugged his shoulders, as if he were throwing off a cloak or a cape. — As soon as things get better here, I'll return to my ship and sail across the ocean to explore the coast of Ludria. I would have sailed long ago, but the prince trusts me, gives me all sorts of important tasks. I don't want to let him down, so I'm stuck on land, soon I'll put down roots. Or rather, I'll sprout like a potato. — He shook his head. — To the demons. Let's just listen. That's why I came here. Lytel would never play for me, and I like her tunes. She writes them herself.